Hurricane
by SQallthings
Summary: Ever wonder what happened to Norrington between the hurricane off Tripoli and DMC? Want our boy Norrington to FINALLY get some love too? Me too, and this is what I think happened. NorringtonOC, not as fluffy as you'd think....well, it might be...
1. Prologue

Alright, so now that my story has become a little more concrete in my own mind I've made a few minor changes to the first two chapters. Once again, I own nothing, NorringtonOC, still looking for an acceptable title. Have fun……

She sits against the door of the captain's cabin, her knees pulled into her chest. The sky begins to darken. She doesn't notice. The wind picks up, it blows her hair away from her face. She looks up as a single tear runs down her cheek. The wind continues to blow, lightning streaks the sky. Sparrow and Elizabeth stood at the prow, waiting. Something shoots out of the ocean next to the Pearl, a ship. Elizabeth runs towards it. A man with dark hair appears on deck and opens his arms. Elizabeth runs to his embrace. Sparrow saunters up to the couple in his usual drunken fashion.

"Any news from the locker, then?" Elizabeth and her husband pull apart slightly.

"I found him." She snaps her head up. She stands, listening. The captain cocks his head to the side. Elizabeth speaks.

"And? Can you bring him back, Will?" He shakes his head.

"I can't, she can. She needs convincing, however. As you can see, she is planning to join us for this little meeting." They all look up at the growing storm. Sparrow grins.

"Ah yes." A gale rocks the Pearl, rain begins to fall. A bolt of lightning cuts across the sky. A woman appears on the deck. Her clothing is strange, seemingly nothing but lengths of seaweed bound about her voluptuous body. She is pale, white as the sands of Jamaica. Her eyes are dark as jet, without a trace of white. Her hair is wild and black. It whips around her head in the wind. Will and Elizabeth nod to the woman. Sparrow goes towards her.

"Ah, Calypso. This form is interesting, to say the least, but I don't think it suits you quite as well as your former one." The woman smiles slightly.

"True, Jack, but I had begun to tire of it." Her voice is low and smooth with traces of some ancient, Mediterranean accent. Sparrow smiles, removes his hat and bows slightly.

"My lady." She nods and looks towards the Turners.

"Now, my captain tells me there is a soul up for bargain." Elizabeth approaches her.

"Yes, Calypso. We ask that you return James Norrington to the land of the living." Calypso smiles, crosses her arms and walks towards Elizabeth.

"Why should I?"

"He was killed helping Sao Feng's crew and myself escape the Flying Dutchman. If he had not helped us Barbossa would not have had all nine pieces of eight necessary to free you. His death helped us to set you free, I hope that you will consider that in your decision." The goddess laughs harshly.

"So you think I owe this man his life since he played a small part in my inevitable freedom?" Will starts immediately.

"No, of course not. You owe nothing to anyone. We ask for this kindness. I have been dutiful as captain of the Flying Dutchman, and I hope that I have gained your favor."

"Aye, Captain Turner, that you have." He smiles. She raises one finger. "For now." Calypso paces slowly around the deck. The girl remains against the door. She is afraid, but she is also brave. She does not hide her eyes from the unpredictable deity.

"You are not the person I would expect to find on this ship, Cora Edwards." She looks into the inky eyes, surprised.

"You know who I am?" Calypso smiles.

"I know more than you think." A bolt of lightening cuts across the sky. "Leave us," Calypso calls over her shoulder.

"What?" She turns to see Sparrow staring at her, confused.

"Leave us, Jack. I will speak to the girl alone."

"As you wish, your crabby-ness." He bows dramatically and goes below. The Turners follow. Calypso turns and moves to the prow of the ship, beckoning for the girl to follow. She rises to her feet and moves to stand behind the goddess.

"So, you wish me to bring back James Norrington."

"Yes, milady."

"Then you must persuade me." She looks at her, her brow slightly wrinkled.

"How may I do that, milady?" Calypso smiles.

"Tell me your story."


	2. Gozo

(I've changed the locale in this one after spending some more time researching things online. Malta is now Gozo, which is actually the smaller island in the Malta archipelago, so it kind of is still Malta….I'm rambling. On with the story.)

Chapter 1: Gozo

My mother was an honest, well meaning woman. Ever since I was born she spent her life doing what she thought was best for me. There were times she went without food so that I would not go hungry. She loved me with every ounce of her being. She taught me to be strong and brave no matter what befalls. That being said, she was gullible, easily persuaded and had terrible taste in men.

My parents met in a tavern in Bristol just over twenty years ago. She was a serving girl, having lived and worked in the tavern and adjoining inn since her own parents died when she was ten years old. She was quiet, sweet, and virtuous at the age of seventeen, which was a rarity in such establishments. He was a sailor, the first mate on a vessel which was "without management" at the time. He was not a good man. My mother, being naïve as she was, never suspected that he was a pirate.

My father came to Bristol on the ship of the famous privateer, Henry Morgan. Morgan went to London to receive the approval of the king while my father and several other crew members went to the pub to seek out ale, women, and profitable ventures. And so, my sweet, trusting mother caught the eye of this unsavory character. He began to come to the tavern every night. He brought her presents: some dried pineapple, a hair pin made of cleaned fishbones, a necklace of silver coins, and small bits of opal and turquoise. He told her stories of his adventures. He told her of the Caribbean sands, fights for Spanish treasure holds, spells and curses of heathen witches, and the stars above the Atlantic. She never had a chance. When he went back to sea, she followed him, disguised as a cabin boy. A month after they reached Jamaica, she was pregnant. Upon hearing the news he quickly jumped aboard a pirate vessel bound for Africa. He vowed to return within a year. Let it suffice to say he did not return.

My mother, pregnant and alone, sought refuge as a kitchen maid in the house of the governor. It was there she gave birth to me and there we lived for the first fourteen years of my life. I, like my mother, was quiet, honest, and virtuous. These qualities made me an excellent maid to the Governor's wife and a suitable playmate to her children. My childhood was happy, spent playing in the sun and performing minor chores such as sweeping balconies and bringing the lady of the house her fan. My mother stayed in the kitchen, working silently. At night she would tell me stories of my father and her journey to the other side of the world. Because of these stories and the fact that I was much smarter than my mother I did not inherit her gullible nature or poor judgment regarding the opposite sex. I knew what my father had done to her even though she would not admit it, and I vowed never to be taken advantage of the way she was. I would not be so cheaply bought with pretty words, exotic stories and empty promises.

I grew pretty, and by the time I was thirteen I had become a distraction to the young men of the house. I never understood all the fuss. My face is pleasant, I will admit, but it is nothing particularly special. My eyes are brown and average, my teeth and mouth no more attractive than those of any other maid. My body is full and curvy, this I will admit. There are temptations enough in a full bosom and round hips, even a girl with my limited experience could recognize that. In my mind, however, my one true beauty is my hair. It is an interesting color, not quite brown, not quite gold, but instead changes with the light and the time of day. It is not curly, but full of gentle waves which tighten to curls in the humidity and heat. It is also wonderfully thick and soft. I love my hair. However, seeing as it was constantly covered with a white linen cap, I cannot see how it would have enticed any man to lust. Nevertheless, the young men of the house tried to catch me in compromising situations, which naturally worried my young mother. Shortly before my thirteenth birthday the household was told that a new Governor would arrive in Port Royal within the year as our current Governor was returning to England to enjoy his retirement. My mother thought this as good a time as any to move on from our current situation.

She had always wanted to return to England. Ever since she had foolishly followed my lying pirate of a father she had longed for her home. So she went to the Governor's wife and asked for the last of her wages, and with that money she purchased passage for us on a ship to England. I was sad to leave the only home I had ever known, but I trusted in my mother. Unfortunately her poor taste included all men, not just those of romantic interest. When the ship was nearly to England, the crew mutinied. The captain was killed and all passengers who did not wish to join the crew were made prisoner. I was terrified that they had a more dreadful purpose in mind for us few female passengers, but the first mate turned pirate captain was clever enough to realize that unspoiled women can fetch a better price on a slave block. We passed through the straight of Gibraltar unharmed, headed for Tripoli. Before we reached our destination, however, our ship met with a Spanish galleon. A brief battle ensued, out of which the pirates emerged victorious, but not before several holes had been blasted through the hull of our ship. The brig now had a gaping hole and was quickly filling with water. Realizing that we would be no good to them dead, the pirates quickly moved us prisoners on deck while they made makeshift repairs to the ship. In their haste they were lazy. My ropes were not tight enough to securely bind my thin wrists. I slipped out and was able to free my mother and Robert, the ten year old boy bound in the same ropes, before any of the pirates came back on deck. We hid in a lifeboat until nightfall and then cast off on our own. The boy was crying, afraid and alone. His family was gone, killed when the cannon ball opened the brig to the sea. Curious that one object can strike a man and a woman in such a way that they both die instantly, yet the people mere inches away from them survive without a scratch. My mother held him, singing softly and stroking his back. After a few hours we saw land. I rowed until I could no longer feel my arms, rowed until the tide took the boat from under us and the waves spat us onto the shore. That is how my mother, my new brother Robert and I first came to the island of Gozo.


	3. The Island

Chapter 2: The Island

Gozo was like no place I had ever seen. Unlike the beaches of the Caribbean with their scattered palm trees, in Gozo there were mountains and green valleys as soon as the sand stopped. We found a cave, set high into the coastal rocks which overlooked a beach with red sand and, further into the distance, a fort. I did not know what sort of people existed on this island and Mother was afraid to venture far beyond the safety of the cave. The seas were rough, the air wet and the wind fierce, yet the cave was warm and without drafts. We did not venture far beyond that cave for a fortnight after arriving on the island. I left once a day to gather food and fresh water from a small spring I found nearby, but Mother never let me go beyond her sight. Robert had caught a chill on the voyage from Jamaica and the grief of losing his parents along with the day spent floating on the open sea made him become ill. I was afraid to explore further, for his sake, until he was well enough to run and hide from any newfound enemies. So, instead of looking outward, I explored inward. I would disappear into the depths of the cave for hours at a time, trying to discover the expanse of the abyss. After a week of working my way through a complicated labyrinth of rock I found water. The last room of the cave opened into a small lagoon and a smooth slide which dropped down into the sea itself. On the very edge of the slide was a series of rough steps carved into the rock which made it possible to climb down to the mouth of the cave. I often wondered about these steps, for I could not with any certainty determine if they were carved by man or some strange creation of nature. The air in this cave was warm and slightly moist. During the day the sun cast a red light on the lagoon, and at night it glowed blue with moonshine. The water was so clear you could see the seaweed on the bottom of the basin as well as each individual fish and crab that came in with the tide. This last cave and lagoon I made my own. I called it my bower. When I wanted to be alone with my own thoughts and dreams I would escape to my little cave and swim in the clear, warm pool and then sit out on the steps and watch the sea until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

After our first few months on the island we had made friends in the closest village to the red beach. It was a small village of only ten or fifteen families. There was and old woman there who lived with her son and his wife and who took an instant liking to Robert and I. He and I would walk along the edge of a green valley and up the hill to the village once every other day bringing fish, shells and driftwood. Robert would help the son with some chores around the village. I would sit with the old woman and she would tell me stories of the island. She warned me to stay away from the fort on the other side of the red beach. The island was under the control of the Knights of St. John and they may not look kindly on three English, Protestant strangers wandering about their island unchecked. She told me legends about the giant, ancient stone temples scattered throughout Gozo. When I told her more about our cave, she was afraid. She told me a myth, a legend about a goddess and a Greek warrior. No one on the island dared to enter the cave for fear of the goddess' wrath, yet my family lived there unscathed and in comfort. The old woman believed I had and air of destiny about me, that I was in the favor of the goddess and therefore protected from her wrath. I was intrigued by these stories. I did not know if I believed them, but I respected them. I did not know if there was a vengeful and lusty goddess who had once inhabited my little cave, but I knowingly did nothing that would offend such a goddess. I have always been a dreamy sort of girl. I believe in God and have since I can remember, and at the same time I do not discount the myths and legends which make up the fabric of the world in which we live. Who am I to say that such things do not exist?

Nine years passed. We continued to live in our cave on the island, trading and working with the small village on the other side of the green valley. Robert went to live with the old woman's son and daughter in law but still came to see us every few days. He grew into a sturdy young man who was chased by the few girls of the village. My mother grew old before her time and became fragile and silent. I grew into a woman. The few men I met on the island showed an interest in me, but I did not entertain the idea of marriage. I had always hoped to one day return to Jamaica, my first home, and did not want to form a bond which would tie me forever to this Mediterranean Eden. And so, at the age of twenty three, still unattached and living in the goddess' cave with my aging mother, my life began to change. I looked into the sky one day and saw black clouds begin to gather. I saw the coming of the storm.


	4. The Hurricane

I'm sorry my chapters are so short, I just have to get it out there once I complete a train of thought. The next one should be much longer…

Chapter 3: The Hurricane

The storm descended swiftly. The waves roared and crashed against the beaches and rocks. The wind blew over trees and homes as if they were made of paper. The people of the small village near our home were so frightened that they risked angering the goddess and sought refuge with us in the cave. The worst of the storm wreaked its havoc on Gozo for a solid week, during which none of us left the inner caves. One day, we heard the wind slow, heard the crash of the ocean cease. The water that had risen in my bower receded and the steps were visible again. We ventured outside to see the damage. Trees were down all along the edge of the valley. Driftwood and bits of ships littered the beach. The people of the village went to see what was left of their homes. Mother wandered through the felled trees and plants looking for food. Robert and I began picking through the debris on the beach.

A few hours later we had found a new table, some sails which we could salvage for cloth, slats for new beds and enough firewood to last a month. Robert was helping my mother bring in what little edible fruits and vegetables she had found. I was watching the sky, feeling somehow that the storm had more still to give us. For the better part of an hour I stood there on the debris covered beach, just watching the sky and the sea. The sun began to set. As it drew closer to the horizon the sun cast a red hue over the sea, illuminating the surface of the water. That is when I saw it. Floating not far off the shore was what appeared to be the front half of a lifeboat. I squinted my eyes, trying to see it more clearly through the sunlight. There was an arm hanging over the side of the boat.

"Robert! Robert, come quick!" He dashed out of the cave as I pulled off my heavy outer dress and shoes. "There is a man in that boat!" His eyes followed my outstretched arm and widened when they saw the vessel. He quickly tore off his own shoes and ran towards the surf. I followed. We swam.

The boat was actually much closer that I had realized; I still do not know why I could not see it sooner. We reached it where it was floating, perhaps fifty feet beyond the breakers. Robert positioned himself behind the boat where he could push it in. I grabbed onto the prow with one hand and began to swim.

"Cora, there are two men in this boat." I turned my head while my legs continued to churn.

"Two?"

"Yes, I think one of them is dead. The other I cannot tell." I closed my eyes for a moment, whispered a swift prayer and swam harder. Soon we reached the shore. We dragged the boat onto the beach as far as our exhausted bodies would allow us. Robert collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping for air in the sand. I dropped to my knees and leant on the boat. The men were dressed as British naval officers. Both wore navy coats and salt-soaked white wigs. The man whose arm I saw was laying facedown in the boat, his hat covering his head. The other was on his back, vacant eyes staring towards the heavens. His chest was covered in blood.

"Damn," I whispered and crossed myself. "Lord rest him. Robert, this one is definitely dead." My adopted brother got to his feet. "Help me with the other, perhaps he managed to survive."

Robert stood where the back side of the boat should have been. He reached under the man's arms, grasped him around the chest, and lifted the unconscious man to his knees. I stood quickly. I stepped over the prow and removed the man's hat, putting a hand to his face. It was warm. I pressed one hand to his chest and placed my ear against his mouth. I felt a heartbeat, heard him draw breath.

"He's alive, Robert! Quickly, we must get him to the cave."


	5. Norrington

I'm back! The last month and a half has been insane. Within that space I was a bridesmaid in two weddings (maid on honor in one), moved to a different state by myself, had my appendix out, and started my first job as a self sufficient adult. It's been hectic. Anyway, I've slightly redone this chapter to make the speech a little less ridiculous (in response to a review, you were totally right about the dialect. Hope this is better!) and will begin new chapters soon. Hopefully you'll see something new from me in a week or so! Cheers

Chapter 4: Norrington

Mother was lighting a new candle when I burst into the cave.

"A man, mother, Robert and I found a man floating in the debris!" I quickly cleared off the table.

"A man? What kind of man?" No sooner had Mother asked her question than Robert came through the door with the half drowned officer in his arms. I moved aside quickly and Robert laid him on the long table. The three of us moved forward and leant over the sailor. He was handsome, despite his now scraggly wig and dirty face. There was something about his face; it seemed familiar somehow… "Quickly, Cora, we must see if he is hurt." I started.

"Oh." I pulled off his hat and wig, revealing a surprisingly thick head of dark hair, strands of which were stuck to his clammy forehead. "He is very warm, and he sweats." I opened his coat, examining his torso for injuries. His vest and shirt were soaked through and stuck to his very fit body. My hands shook slightly, I was not used to having many men around me, much less having their chests under my hands. I continued to look. There was a dark stain on his vest near his belt. "There." Mother took hold of the candle that had been on the table and held it close. Under the light the stain was red. I pulled his vest open, revealing a blood soaked undershirt. I pulled the shirt up over his stomach. There was a deep gash, three inches long and almost an inch wide low on the left side of his abdomen, almost on his hip. Mother gasped. Robert put one hand over his mouth. I turned my head quickly. "Oh my," I muttered before looking back. "Well then, Robert, move him to the bed in the inner room. I shall get more fresh water. Mother, will you find some clean cloth?"

"Yes dear. Robert, after you move him run to the village and tell Mrs. Vasalli what has happened. I do not know the local herbs and medicines, and we will need something to stop the infection." Robert nodded and lifted the officer. I took up two buckets and ran to the spring. By the time I came back Robert had gone. Mother had a stack of clean rags and was trying to remove the man's coat.

"Here, let me help you." I pulled him into a sitting position with some difficulty. I held him there while she pulled of his coat, vest and shirt. I laid him back down as carefully as I could. With my arms around his bare torso I felt how fierce his fever was. His whole body was covered in a layer of sweat and his skin was incredibly hot to the touch. We began removing his shoes and stockings. Robert ran back into the cave.

"I told her…what happened…." He was standing with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. "Cold seaweed compress…change when it dries….can't… breathe…" Mother put her hands on his shoulders.

"Take a moment, son, catch your breath." She turned to me. "Cora, take a pail and gather as much seaweed in water as you can and bring it back. Robert and I will get him into clean trousers." I nodded and ran down to my bower with a bucket. When I returned, once again soaking, the officer was lying on the bed wearing a pair of Robert's drawstring britches. Mother had a wet cloth in her hand and was beginning to clean the wound. "Here Cora, wash the gash. It has stopped bleeding, but it is weeping. We must clean all the sand out of the wound to prevent it becoming more infected than it already is." I took the cloth as Mother turned to my seaweed. The man was covered in a layer of grit. I continued to wash the wound, being careful not to cause him more pain than necessary. As I gradually removed all the dirt and pus from the wound I saw that it was full of wood splinters. I winced.

I took a needle from my sewing basket and began picking the splinters from his side. Suddenly the sailor gasped and shot up. He sat upright for only a moment before grasping his stomach and falling back on the bed. He looked around, his eyes darting back and forth feverishly before they came to rest on me. He raised one shaking hand to his forehead and started, looking completely confused.

"Where am I?" His voice was low, smooth and staunchly English.

"You are on the island of Gozo in the Mediterranean. My brother and I found you afloat in half of a lifeboat after the hurricane. We brought you here, where I live with my mother." He blinked.

"Gozo? Lifeboat….Gillette! Where is Gillette?" He jumped slightly and grasped his side, as if he was suddenly becoming more aware of his injury. He glanced at the tear in his hip and looked back at me, his green eyes searching.

"Was Gillette the other gentleman in the lifeboat?" He nodded. I shook my head. "He was dead when we found you." He blinked and stared at the cave ceiling. "I am so sorry…"

"Then I am the only survivor." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I am sorry, I feel very strange. Who are you, may I ask?" I took his hand.

"Please don't be sorry. It is only right that you should be disoriented, it is a miracle that you are even alive. My name is Cora Edwards, and I am going to take care of you." He knit his brow.

"Miss Edwards. James Norrington." He nodded to me and winced in pain. I nodded back.

"Cora, please," I responded. "This is going to hurt, I'm afraid." He gritted his teeth. I resumed picking over the wound with my needle. He tried to muffle a gasp of pain.

"Cora…" James Norrington succumbed to fatigue and fever once again. I continued to pick the wood from his side.

A very tedious half hour later the wound was completely clean. Mother had made a cold compress out of the wet seaweed and placed it over the gash. She wiped her hands and picked up a basket.

"Cora, do you see how the compress is made?" I nodded.

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. I am going to the village to consult Mrs. Vasalli myself. It will be dark in a few hours and I will most likely stay the night. If there is anything that can be done at once I will send her son to you. Robert is outside burying the other sailor. He will be here if you need anything." She began to walk outside.

"Mama?" She turned.

"What should I do until morning? I do not know how to care for a sick man..." I was nervous. None of us had even been ill since we first arrived on Gozo. Mother smiled, came back and wrapped me in her arms.

"Don't worry, love. Clean him, keep him warm, keep a cool cloth on his face if his fever rages too hard and keep the compress fresh. You will do a fine job, my girl. Just watch and be alert, he will be fine." I squeezed her hard, grateful for her confidence in me.

"Yes, Mama. Please hurry back."

"I will, love." I watched her walk across the edge of the valley. When she was beyond my sight I looked to the edge of the beach where Robert was digging a grave for the other poor sailor. I turned, walked into the cave and looked at James Norrington, the man who had been left in my care. I took up the freshwater and some rags and went to his bedside. I dipped a cloth in the pail and began to wash. I wiped across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. As I began to clean his eyelids an image of the bright green eyes beneath them came into my head. Those eyes and their mysterious owner were solely in my care. As I thought of his eyes my hand grew steady and I became less afraid. I gingerly washed his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips, his chin with the beginnings of a beard. I was no longer afraid, I would not let this man die while he was in my care.

"James Norrington, I am going to take care of you."

Night fell on the island. My calm disappeared with the last rays of the sun. His fever was becoming more and more fierce. He had fallen into a sickly sleep and began to thrash and moan. I wrapped him in every blanket, shawl and table cloth we had and stoked the fire as much as I could, but the damp air and salty driftwood would never burn hot enough to break the fever. It must have been close to midnight when I pulled back his covers to change the compress. The wound was now red hot and oozing pus.

"Blast…" I muttered as I wiped the gash clean and replaced the compress. He moaned in his sleep and began to mutter under his breath. "Come now Mr. Norrington, please stay still and warm…please? We must break your fever and I do not know what else to do!" I began to cry. I went through our belongings once more looking for something, anything I could use to keep him warm. I didn't know what to do and Mother wasn't there to help me. Robert had gone back to the village to get more rope to lower the body into the grave hours ago. He must have decided to stay the night, oh why wasn't he here? I paced back and forth, crying out of frustration and ringing my hands.

"What can I do?" I put my palms against my face and felt the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I realized then how warm my face was, how warm I was, and then I knew.

"I know what must be done!" I looked at him and realized what I was thinking. "Oh dear, I know what must be done…" I walked up to him, and bit my lip. "Mr. Norrington, I do hope that you are not as proper as you sound, and if you are I am very, very sorry." I pulled back the blankets, pulled off my shoes and climbed into the bed beside him. His fever was so hot it felt like his very skin could burn me. "I cannot believe I am doing this." I pulled the covers over us. I wrapped my legs around his and my arms around his shoulders, trying to warm his body with mine. He continued to thrash.

"Just be calm." I pulled his head to my chest and began to stroke his hair the way my mother used to stroke mine as a child. He became still but continued to moan and mutter. "Shhh, it's alright," I whispered. I began to sing softly, nothing much, just the kind of song a mother sings to a child when they cannot sleep at night. As I sang I caressed his forehead with my fingertips. I massaged his temples and the soft spot in between his eyebrows. I lightly brushed the back of my hand over his eyelids. He became quiet and still. I moved my hand back to his hair, holding his head lightly. I continued to sing. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and nustled his head into my neck. "Oh thank you, he rests." I rocked him slowly, slowly until the motion made my eyes droop. The last thing I was aware of before I drifted off to sleep was the slow, rhythmic breathing of the man sleeping against me.

"Ahem." I heard a cough and opened my eyes. Robert was standing in the door of the inner room with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "I leave you unchaperoned for mere hours and this is what happens?" I rubbed my eyes and looked down at Norrington. He was sleeping peacefully.

"Wait…" I felt his face. It was still warm, but the fever had broken. "Oh thank God." I sat up and slowly extracted myself from the knot of blankets, trying not to disturb him. As I got up I pulled back the covers to check his wound. It was still weepy, but was no longer oozing as it had been. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to my brother. "It worked!" I gave him a kiss on the cheek and went into the outer cave to make a fresh compress. He followed me, confused.

"Cora? What worked?" I turned and smiled.

"Oh don't fuss so, I didn't actually do anything improper." He snorted.

"Nothing?" My jaw dropped, shocked at what he was suggesting.

"Robert!!" He grinned at me. "I did nothing! I was watching him last night and his fever raged beyond anything I could control. You know how slowly the fires burn here, I couldn't get the flames hot enough, that was the only way I could get him warm him enough to break the fever." He continued to grin. "I am not lying! Robert…" He held his hands up and laughed.

"I'm only joking, don't worry so. You should consider yourself lucky that it was me who found you and not your mother."

"Oh that would have been beyond terrible…. she would have fainted dead away!"


	6. Awake

Chapter 5: Awake

One day passed, and then another, then another. Mother and Robert resumed a relatively normal lifestyle. I, however, devoted myself entirely to the role of nurse. Robert brought food from the village and gathered fresh water. I brought pails of saltwater and seaweed from my pool. Mother cleaned the cave. I washed his face, arms and torso. She cooked for the family. I made cold compresses and dripped cool water onto his lips and into his mouth. She cleaned the linens and did the mending. I boiled scrap cloth and cut it into strips for bandages. Mother looked after us. I looked after him. I fell into a lull with my new occupation and things remained calm as they had always been until one morning, he awoke.

"Ouch!" I put down my pails and examined my arm where I had banged it into yet another cave wall. I was retrieving more seaweed from my pool and was hurrying as quickly as possibly to get the two pails of saltwater and greenery back to the sickroom before anything bad could happen to my patient. I had never been excessively light on my feet, a fault that was only compounded by trying to move quickly on uneven rock in the dark while carrying two very full pails of water. As a result of this endeavor I found myself in possession of many more scrapes and bruises than I had when I set off. In this instance the injury was relatively minor. I brushed the dirt off my arm and, realizing that it was not even bleeding, picked up my pails and continued onward. After walking for a few more minutes I began to see the light of our rooms. With my destination in sight I picked up speed. By the time I could see the entrance to the sickroom I had broken into a full jog, running jaggedly while sloshing water everywhere. Every cave was separated by a small stone ledge. Instead of slowing to insure I remained upright as any sane person would have done, I ran faster and took the ledge at a flying leap. In any other case this leap would have cleared the ledge, but in this particular instance I did not take into account the extra weight of the water which I carried. My miscalculation resulted in my catching my left foot on the ledge and skidding into the sickroom on my right knee, dragging my left leg behind me and one of the pails falling upside down on the rug.

"Blast!" I set the pails upright and grabbed all the scattered seaweed I could reach, depositing it safely into the surviving pail. Then I tried to get up, a task which I discovered was much easier said than done given my awkward landing. My left shoe had fallen off completely and the top of my foot was skinned and bleeding, as was my right knee. I stood and put my weight on my left foot and fell promptly back onto the floor. "Ow, oh spite!" I grabbed a chair in arms' reach and pulled myself to my feet, hobbling over to the table. I grabbed a bandage and began wrapping my ankle.

"Pardon me…" I jumped and immediately fell on my already sore backside yet again. I turned my head towards the invalid and saw that he was quite awake and staring at me with a slightly amused look on his pale face.

"You're awake!" He nodded weakly.

"It would appear so," he replied hoarsely. "You may want to clean off the blood before you wrap your foot." He lifted one finger and pointed to the bandage in my hand. I stared blankly at my foot, suddenly having forgotten why I was bleeding at all.

"Oh, yes. That would make more sense, would it not?" He chuckled slightly, after which he burst into a fit of coughing. I pulled myself to my feet once again and hopped to the bed with the water pitcher. After gingerly sitting at his side I lifted his chin with one hand and dribbled some water into his mouth. He sputtered slightly and swallowed. He drank again. The coughing stopped. He nodded to me.

"Thank you. I beg your pardon, but I do not remember where I am." I smiled slightly as I wiped some water from his chin.

"I do not believe how politely you are behaving considering your current state." He chuckled again. "You are on the island of Gozo, in the cave where I live with my mother. I am…"

"Cora." I smiled and squeezed the excess moisture from my cloth.

"Yes, that's right." He stared at me as I wiped the water from his lips. "…and I am taking care of you." The corners of his mouth turned up in a weak smile.

"Yes, yes that much I do remember."

"Mother! Mother, where are you?" I limped through the caves, once again stubbing several toes. I finally found her sitting outside mending an old shirt of Robert's. I leapt awkwardly in front of her, spraying sand into her lap in the process. She crossed her arms and looked at me with that disapproving gaze only mothers seem to have mastered.

"Yes? What is it that requires you to hurry so and dirty this nice clean shirt?" My cheeks went red. "And what is wrong with your leg?"

"I fell. I am sorry, Mother, but he is awake!" She stood quickly.

"Awake? Is he coherent?"

"Yes, he is. He is very weak and I believe does not remember how he arrived here, but I think other than that he is quite well!" Mother smiled and draped the shirt over her arm.

"Excellent!" She turned and headed back into the cave. I followed. She placed some dried meat in a pot and grabbed her herbs and a large spoon. "Bring some fresh water, love; we must get his strength up. He must try and drink some broth whenever he is awake." I took the water and followed her into the sickroom. She put down her load and went to the sick man's bedside. "Cora, stoke the fire and get the water hot." Mother bent over the sailor, who stared weakly up at her. She laid a hand on his forehead, feeling for fever. She gently pulled on his eyelids, looking to see that his eyes appeared normal. "Pardon me," she said as she pushed back his upper lip to examine his teeth and gums. When she seemed quite satisfied she stood back and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, young man, other than a want of food and water you appear to be recovering nicely." He coughed, slightly.

"Thank you, Mrs…."

"Edwards. I am…"

"Cora's mother." She smiled.

"Yes. My daughter has been quite the devoted nursemaid while you have been fighting the fever." He looked over at me. I blushed and turned back to the broth.

"Yes, it does appear that she has." He coughed and gave another weak smile. "I do not know how to express my gratitude…" Mother tutted and waved her hand.

"None of that, my dear, none of that. Thanks are not necessary, but if you must express them wait at least until you have had some broth." She gestured in my direction. "You must not waste your strength with speech." She patted his arm gently, turned and left the room.

It was quiet. I cut the meat into strips, stirred the water and mixed in herbs. He lay there. He did not speak, but I knew he was still awake. I did not turn, did not look at him until the broth was ready. I had grown so accustomed to my silent charge that I was nervous about facing this new, alert man.

Once the water had turned to broth, I filled a bowl and rose. He was watching me, quietly, with a look I could not quite read. There was a sense of heaviness, of weariness about him that I did not understand.

"Here, we are," I said as I sat on the side of the bed. "Breakfast is served." He tried to raise himself to a sitting position and failed with a frustrated grunt. I put the bowl of broth down on the nightstand. "Here, let me help you." I stood and hooked my elbows under his arms. "Ready, and go." He pushed feebly as I pulled him up. I rearranged the pillows under his back to prop him up as he sat there panting, a slight red tinge to his cheeks which I attributed to the sudden exertion. Once he was comfortably situated I resumed my position with the broth.

"I do hope it's not too hot," I said as I raised the spoon to his lips. He drank and coughed.

"No, no, hot is good," he managed to get out between sputters. He drank some more. "All things considered this is really quite delicious." I smiled.

"Thank you. I must say I do pride myself on my broth," I sad with a wink. He smiled.

Before long the bowl was almost completely empty. The greenish tinge had begun to fade from the sailor's face and some color had stolen its way back into his cheeks. His eyelids began to droop. I stood.

"Alright now, time for some more sleep, I believe." He nodded slowly. I placed my arm around his shoulder and lifted the pillows as he eased back onto the bed. He watched me sleepily as I smoothed the blankets and fluffed the pillows up around his head. I stood and turned to go.

"Cora?" I stopped.

"Yes, Mr. Norrington?" He snorted.

"Please, if I must call you Cora you should at least call me James." I nodded.

"Very well. What may I do for you, James?" He smiled slightly.

"Will you talk to me?" I moved back to the bedside once again.

"About what?" He shrugged weakly.

"Anything. I am tired of my own thoughts; it would be a nice change to hear someone else's."

"Alright." I sat. "My mother used to speak of a village off the coast of Cornwall where there stood a small church with the most magnificent choir. In the evenings after the service one of the choir boys would always go out and have a walk on the beach. One night he looked out to sea, where he saw a large, black rock. On the rock was a woman with long, wild hair. Glittering against the rock where her legs should have been was a silvery fish tail…"

"Cora?"

"Yes, James?"

"Thank you."


	7. Back to Life

I don't know if anyone is still interested in this, but if you are I'm sorry I left you hanging for so long. I suck, I'm aware of this, but life happens, what can I say. Anyhow, I'm back and will hopefully keep this thing going for a while. Happy reading. 

The red Mediterranean sun followed the pale, mysterious moon as time passed on our little island. My charge grew stronger. Each day he would eat a little more, would sit a little longer and would ask me a few more questions about my life and my home. He did not speak much, but rather listened as I told him of my limited past. Each night he fell asleep to my stories. James Norrington gathered strength, listened and watched.

There was such depth, such sadness and mystery in his clear green eyes. They had a certain magic about them. I could feel them opening when he awoke, could feel them follow me about the cave. His eyes spoke to me. They told me a story of the man, a story of ambition and regret. I did not ask him to tell me this story himself. I knew that if he wanted me to know more than his eyes gave me he would speak. In the meantime, I monopolized the conversation as I continued to nurse the sailor back to health.

After about two weeks, he was well enough to move a little on his own. I would help pull him to his feet and we would shuffle around the room until he collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed. After a few days, he could walk for a small amount of time without completely depleting his strength. I would help him around the room, then instead of returning to bed he would sit in my chair and watch me prepare dinner or hold mother's yarn while she mended socks and blankets. One afternoon he asked to go outside.

"I need the sea, Cora," he said as I rearranged the pillows under his head. "Will you take me to the sea?" I smiled.

"Of course I will, though I think the sun may do you greater good. Mother has been worrying about how pale you still are, which I don't completely understand." He stared up at me, his eyebrows knit in puzzlement.

"And why is that?" I shrugged.

"Well, it's just that you seem to have a nice glow when you're awake. Your cheeks flush, though I suppose that could be some remnant of the fever." He nodded slowly.

"Yes, I'm sure that's what it is. I wasn't aware I became flushed…" He became quiet again. I left him to his contemplation and gathered up a pair of Robert's shoes and placed a blanket, a small bowl and a clean cloth into a basket. I sat my things on the table and pulled two chairs to the entrance of the cave. I returned, filled the bowl from the fresh water supply and gathered everything into my arms. "What are you doing?" I glanced over at my patient.

"You said you wanted to go outside, I'm getting things ready."

"Oh." I took the basket out, then the chairs. When I came back I helped pull Norrington to a sitting position and placed Robert's shoes on his feet.

"I'm afraid these are a little tight, does it bother you?" I looked up at him where he sat, watching me as ever.

"No, I didn't even notice."

"Good. Alright then, up we go…" Once standing, we began the short journey to the outside world. He only had to stop twice to catch his breath. After a few minutes, we were standing in the entrance of the outer cave facing a red sun casting its light over a golden sea. He sighed and closed his eyes. I watched his face relax as the salty wind blew gently through his hair and the evening sun kissed his cheeks. As he leaned into me I swear I could feel strength begin to seep into his weakened frame. I watched his closed eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his lips as a semblance of peace came over his features. He opened his eyes, looked down at me and smiled.

"Thank you." I grinned back at him.

"You don't ever need to thank me for anything." I could feel my face grow hot as he smiled at me. I coughed. "Now then, let's get you seated before you use up all of your strength." After a few moments my charge was comfortably situated facing his sea. For several minutes neither of us spoke, we just sat and stared into the vast expanse of water which had been so influential in both of our lives. I watched the waves break and send white foam rushing onto the sand. I listened to the rise and fall of the ocean and the low whistle of the warm, salty wind. I pulled off my shoes and dug my feet into the sand in front of me. It was one of those rare moments in life where a person is completely content. I was not sad, nor was I happy, I just was.

He spoke.

"All I ever wanted to be was a sailor. I thought that if I gave my life to the sea then she would give me back everything I needed for that life to be happy." I turned, placing my elbow on my knee and resting my chin on my hand. He was staring out into the horizon. He seemed barely aware that I was still there.

"And did she not?" He sighed slightly and looked down at his hands where they rested on his lap.

"No, she did not." He told me his story. He spoke of his boyhood in Bristol, his first voyage, his first commission. He told me of his crossing to Jamaica with the new Governor and his daughter. He told me about Elizabeth, the blacksmith, and the pirates, ghosts of men who became their true selves by moonlight. He hesitated when he came to this part of the tale, understandably, but decided he trusted that I would not think him mad. He then told me how he lost the lady and chased the pirate into the storm. The rest of the story was by this point familiar to me.

He coughed, his voice was hoarse from his narrative. I handed him the water bowl. By this point in the evening the sun was only a tiny point of light on the horizon. I could see Mother and Robert walking up the beach from the village where they had spent the day. I turned back to Norrington. He stared blankly into the distance. He did not turn to look at me.

"You have had a hard time of late, I'm so sorry." He blinked.

"It has been hard, but I am a soldier, meant to deal with such things."

"True, but those were not the hardships I meant." He cocked his head to one side and looked at me, confused.

"What then?" I shrugged.

"Well, from what you've told me it seems to me that you've always been rather lonely, and the whole ordeal over your Miss Swann would, I would think, just make that loneliness all the more painful. And now you've lost so many of your friends…" He clenched his jaw and sighed.

"She is not my Miss Swann, she never was, really. And as for my friends…" He paused, his voice had become so heavy. "Well, grieving will not bring any of them back." Mother and Robert were nearly home. My charge stared at his feet, obviously avoiding my eyes. I picked up my basket and knelt in front of him, forcing him to look at me.

"You cannot bring them back, but you are allowed to mourn them." He sighed again and shook his head.

"It does no good."

"You must allow yourself to feel something, James, otherwise what kind of life will you have?" He stared at me, his eyes searching for some kind of answer to his ruined life in my face. I stared back, willing him to see for himself some of the hope I saw for him.

"Hallo! Finally out and about, I see," Robert shouted as he and Mother approached the mouth of the cave. I stood.

"Yes, we've had our first venture back into the world today." I turned back to Norrington. "Come now, it's nearly night and we should get you back to your bed. This has been quite enough for one day, has it not?" He returned his gaze to the sand. I could almost see his mind working behind his tense forehead. "James?" He looked up.

"Yes, you're right." He tried to stand on his own with little success. I took his arm and pulled him up. He brought a hand to his forehead.

"I feel so weak, will you help me Cora?" I smiled and placed my arm around his back for support.

"However I can, Mr. Norrington, as always."


End file.
